While the man with the scar spoke low to the other rider, she worked the knot inch by inch. The fibers scraped her skin raw, but the pain barely registered. Her focus sharpened on the faint give in the binding, and her pulse hammered when she felt the rope slip a little more. She stayed still, feigning being obedient as she fed the horse a morsel of bread, even as her heart pounded like a drum.
Then without a second thought, she moved behind the horse and gave it a sharp whack on it's flank.
"Ya!" she shouted as the horse startled and ran away.
She turned and ran in the opposite direction into a thicket she had already picked out when she sat eating and drinking. It was the thickest and hence the easiest to hide in the dark. Branches whipped at her face as she plunged into the undergrowth.
"Blast it, the wee witch is runnin' for it!" the man barked. "Get the horse! I will get her!"
The forest swallowed her quickly, the thick brush clawing at her skirts as she darted between close-packed trees. She aimed for the densest growth she could see, knowing a horse couldn't follow easily there.
Twigs snapped underfoot, and the scent of damp moss filled her nose as she ducked beneath low boughs. Her breath came ragged, but she didn't dare slow down.
Behind her, there was the pounding of boots and the sharp curse of the man she'd fled from. The sound spurred her onward, each stride fueled by terror and defiance. She leapt over a fallen log, the rough bark scraping her shins, and dove into a patch of brambles. The thorns bit into her arms, but she clenched her teeth and pushed through.
"Where are ye, lass?"
His voice sounded closer than she wanted, and her stomach knotted. She knew she couldn't let them see where she was heading, so she veered left, crashing through a wall of shrubs.
"If ye think ye can slip me in these woods, ye're sorely mistaken."
Maisie bit her lip and did not make a sound.
"Ye're fast, I'll give ye that."
Maisie's lungs burned as she pushed deeper into the dark maze. The ground sloped downward, slick with fallen leaves, and she nearly lost her footing before catching herself on a tree trunk. She glanced over her shoulder, glimpsing flickers of movement between the trees, too close for comfort. Fear clawed at her throat, but so did determination.
She heard the horse's hooves approaching as the other man returned.
"Ye circle round the ridge," the scarred man ordered, his voice drifting closer through the shadows. "I'll drive her towards ye."
"Aye," the other man agreed, "But if I get to her first, I'll be expectin' a reward for the trouble."
"Touch her, and I'll cut yer bloody hand off," came the snarled reply. "She's mine to deal with."
Maisie shoved herself onward, her skirts tearing on hidden thorns as she scrambled over uneven ground. Her heart thundered so loudly she feared they could track her by the sound alone. She could hear them splitting apart, their footsteps weaving through the forest like predators on the hunt.Somewhere in the distance, an owl gave a mournful call, but to Maisie, it sounded like a warning.
She stumbled over the roots, but a rough arm caught her around the waist before she could take another step.
She cried out, twisting in his grip, but he hoisted her off the ground as though she weighed nothing.
The scarred man's breath was warm against her ear as he growled low, "Ye've been a bad lass, runnin' like that."
His voice was cold, threaded with an edge that made her stomach clench in fear.
He carried her back toward the horses with an unyielding grip, his stride long and sure.
"And bad lasses get punished for disobeyin' me," he added, his tone almost casual, but no less dangerous.
Maisie's heart pounded, her mind racing for some way out, yet none came.
The other man brought the horse around. She was set back on the saddle, tying her more securely this time.
"Ye've the wrong person, I already told ye" she said quickly, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound firm. "I daenae kenwhat ye want, but I swear it's nae me ye're after. Let me go before ye make a fool of yerself to every clan in the land."
He swung into the saddle behind her, the weight of his presence looming close. "Best ye keep yer tongue still," he said evenly. "The more ye talk, the more trouble ye invite for yerself."
Maisie's hands tightened on the worn leather of the saddle, her knuckles white. "So ye'll just steal a woman away without so much as explainin' why?" she asked, her voice sharp now, though fear coiled deep inside. "That's the way of a coward, nae a man."
